


A Grumpy King

by justwanderingneverlost



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Day 4 prompt Royal Portrait, Drabble, Dream of Spring, F/M, Fluff, Jonerys Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:11:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwanderingneverlost/pseuds/justwanderingneverlost
Summary: Daenerys soothes her King's ruffled feathers.





	A Grumpy King

His brooding mask is firmly in place, the crease between his brows deeper than she's seen it in quite some time. One would think the fate of the world was on their shoulders again. She hides a grin behind her goblet of Dornish Red.

“Why is this necessary?” he grumbles, his eyes squinting and suspicious as the tailor flits around him nervously, ever wary of the king's sour mood. To add to his plight the poor man looks like a dull crow in comparison to her handsome husband in his new frock.

“We're having our portrait done today, my love,” she reminds him, smiling sweetly, sure to let him see her heart and its affections. “Remember? We spoke of it only a few nights ago.”

As always, when confronted with the force of her love, his dark scowl fades, his precious face softening as the smallest of smiles turns up his pretty mouth and lights within his chestnut eyes. “Of course I remember, love, but why this?” he asks, his gruffness faded somewhat. “You're in one of your usual dresses. What's wrong with what I always wear?”

She gazes at him indulgently, her need to comfort him battling with her extreme dislike of his frumpy gambeson and boiled leather. “The wars are over. You needn't wear that cumbersome armor everyday, my love. Surely that's more comfortable for you.”

He releases a petulant sigh, his shoulders sagging. “Perhaps, but I look like some rich, arrogant, trumped up lord,” he grumps.

It’s all she can do not to laugh, biting back the need to ask if he is five or twenty-five. “You do not,” she snorts instead, standing and dismissing the tailor with a flick of her hand. As soon as he scurries from the room she joins her husband where he still stands in front of their silvered mirrors snarling at his velvet brocade sleeves. “You look like the handsome king you are,” she assures him, a wicked glint in her eye as she runs her hands over his chest. “ _My_ handsome king. So handsome in fact, we may be late for our sitting.” Her hand drops further still to the front of his soft woolen trousers, his eyes darkening to inky black and now focused entirely on her. “This lovely frock is much easier to rid you of, you know?”

His hands find their way to her face, fingers slipping softly into her hair. “How long will we have to sit for this portrait?” he asks, a tender kiss placed upon her cheekbone. 

She rises onto her toes, her lips a breath from his. “Many hours. _Many, many_ hours,” she hums.

“That sounds exhausting,” he whispers, his warm breath ghosting across her skin, his full lips brushing against hers and lighting a fire within her belly. “I believe we should rest up first, don't you agree?”

“Mmmm, yes I do,” she sighs.


End file.
